The Ludus Hilaritas
by AquilaJ
Summary: The Glee kids are now in ancient Rome, in the gladiator school known as the 'Ludus Hilaritas'. Blainus and Kurtus are new recruits to the school, and with them all sorts of drama comes to the usually peaceful ludus. As tragedy after tragedy after comedy hit the characters, total and utter stupidity, chaos and soppiness ensues. WARNING: character deaths, gore, triggers and suicide.
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE!

Hello again. I'm posting my second anti-fanfic. My sister told me to write another one about Glee (cos she really enjoyed my first one, woo!) so I reluctantly started one. Obviously, since I hate Glee, I added something extra, to feed my obsession with the Romans. So it's set in a gladiator school, with the Glee characters. If that doesn't sound like your type of thing, I understand, so click the back button!

Aha, you're still here. Good. Well I hope you like my story. As my sister requested, it's got more emotional depth and soppy bits. Btw, if you see a word in bold it means it's going to be defined (if it's a technical/Latin kind of word) after the chapter.

Thank you for clicking here anyway! Enjoy!

Chapter I

"**Salve**!" Blainus said. "What's wrong? Kurtus? You look sad!"

Kurtus looked up from having his head buried in his hands. His face was moist with tears and his eyes were red. He looked positively miserable.

"Didn't you see, at the **Saturnalia** games? Varro lost, and they killed him. My Varro! Gone forever! _HOW CAN I NOT BE SAD?_"

Blaine punched the air. Well, mentally. It was highly inappropriate to do so in Kurtus' view. Now he could finally seduce him and they'd be the hottest new couple in the **ludus**. All the other gladiators would be so jealous. It was a well-known fact Kurtus was _very _sought after amongst the gay population in their ludus. Was it his effortless style? Was it his effeminate looks? The gods only knew, but whatever it was, he had some serious sex appeal. Some _serious _sex appeal.

Getting back to the matter at hand, Blainus nodded sympathetically. "I understand you. When I lost my parents, I was crushed. I couldn't even get out of bed in the morning from depression. But it'll be OK, just stay strong. You've got a shoulder to cry on, in the form of your friend Blainus." He dipped his shoulder down, tapping it.

"Thanks," Kurtus wiped his eyes. "I need to get back to training. Bricius is going to kill me." He stood up and walked back to the training area.

Blainus stood there, daydreaming and fantasising about how amazing their first kiss would be, puckering his lips and kissing the air passionately. It was going to be _good._

"WHAT IN HADES' NAME ARE YOU DOING?" Anastasios screamed in his ear. "YOU NEED TO GET BACK TO TRAINING RIGHT NOW!" He clubbed Blainus with his vine staff, bringing him to the ground with a volley of blows. Once he'd got up, Blainus walked in Kurt's direction, Anastasios at his heels with the staff poking into his back.

It was an endless day of running around the ludus. The new recruits were shaping up well, Puckus remarked. At his command, they would be amazing gladiators in no time. Except those two. Those rich kids Blainus and Kurtus. They were from _patrician _families; why the hell would they need to become gladiators? Puckus suspected they joined for the fame. Although that Kurtus had a gay aura about him, as he'd seemed pretty glum after the last games. Must have been a boyfriend of his getting killed.

"HURRY UP!" he yelled, jogging after the slowest novices.

One in particular was slowing down considerably. Kurtus again. Great.

"What's wrong, boy?" Puckus asked, finally lowering his voice to a normal level.

"Nothing, I'll hurry up... sir." Kurtus made to continue, feeling emotionally and physically drained. There was no point arguing with the trainer.

Puckus saw Kurtus' hopeless look and put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"I know something's wrong. You can tell me."

Kurtus felt a lump rise in his throat. He couldn't talk about Varro to this soulless, unsympathetic monster.

"No, really, it's nothing. I should keep running." He set off at a quicker pace.

_Damn it. _Puckus was determined to find out what was wrong with Kurtus. He _did _care about him. He wasn't going to have any of his new recruits getting depressed on him. The last thing he needed was a suicide in his first month on the job. Sueia would murder him.

GLOSSARY!

**Salve**= means 'hello' in Latin.

**Saturnalia**= a festival the Romans celebrated in late December. Usually the roles of the masters and the slaves were reversed, and it was an excuse for general revelry in honour of the god Saturn. The words 'Io Saturnalia!' were cried to signal the start of the festival.

**Ludus**= the gladiator school.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Stabbing the man on the ground a few more times, Mikus laughed loudly. This was a brilliant kill. That guy had no chance against 'Dionysos', the best gladiator that's ever lived. OK, it wasn't official, he still had to beat Karofskus, who'd won 45 fights and lost only 2. Mikus had a long way to go yet, but in his eyes he had much more charm than Karofskus. And when they faced each other on the sands... _oh yeah._

"GET OFF! GET OUT OF THE ARENA!" A slave shouted at him, poking Mikus' back with his red-hot poker, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Stop doing that!" Instinctively, Mikus swung around with a hard punch, connecting fist with face. The slave flew backwards, the poker digging into his most private places. Swear words spewed from his mouth like an overflowing sewer.

The crowd were loving this, cheering and joining in with the stream of filth.

Mikus had, by this time, left back to his room near the arena, still thinking about how he could beat Karofskus to a pulp. He'd had enough of the cocky gladiator's constant bullying and bragging. It was time to show him a lesson somehow. But he still had another match to go, and that was in a few days' time, so he had to rest.

Staring at the ceiling, Mikus found himself becoming floppier and floppier. His eyelids drooped and soon he was fast asleep.

"Why can't I go to the games?" Rickius whined. "I am an epic gladiator! The best that's ever lived!"

"Because I want to save you for something important. I think you might be the latest attraction at... Lupercalia, perhaps?"

"Lupercalia? That's in _ages._ Let me go, or I'll kill you!" Rickius' fists tightened, but Sueia was still calm. She was Spartan, after all- the best Greek state with the best fighters in the known world. She could kill Rickius with one blow.

"It's only in a couple of months. So stop complaining. Now go, and close the door on your way out."

"Huh?" Rickius wasn't exactly the best at Latin, being a native speaker of German (the language of the barbarians; very fitting for Rickius).

"CLOSE. THE. DOOR."

Rickius left, fuming. He slammed the door behind Sueia, who only smiled at the stupidity of her gladiator.

Kurtus woke up in the morning, feeling emptier than before. The realisation that Varro was gone forever; the realisation that he was never going to see him, or talk to him, or kiss him again hit him. Kurtus couldn't begin to imagine what that would be like. He didn't need to: he was already living it. And he didn't want to.

It was finally time. He'd had it planned ever since he saw Varro killed. But now he had the courage to do it. Kurtus gripped the knife in his sweating hands. It had been under his bed all night, for the time when he thought to do it.

Kurtus poured some water from his jug into a bowl. He had everything ready. At last.

He dipped his hands into the water, making sure it went to his wrists. He rubbed his wrists in the hope of finding a vein, or getting one to plump up a little. Soon he saw greenish lines rise from his skin.

_Can I do it? Yes, I can. What will happen if I don't die? Nothing. Nobody cares. What if it doesn't work? It's another thing for those horrible guys to tease me about. So I have to do it. And it _will _work. If I just cut deep enough..._

Kurtus rammed the knife into his left wrist, cutting short his doubts.

_Quickly, before I get too weak. Do the other wrist. Now._

He switched the knife to his other hand and did the same to his right wrist. Now he could free himself from the pain of this world and join Hades in the Underworld, where he belonged.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter III_

Kurtus closed his eyes, willing death to come faster. He dropped the knife on the floor- he couldn't hold it anymore. It was working.

There was an almost inaudible sound as the door was opened.

"Good morning, sir. At special orders from Puckus, you get your breakfast in bed! So h-" Mercada stopped, her eyes widening and becoming moist with tears. "Kurtus? What are you doing?" She made to take his arms out of the water, already grabbing some cloth from her bag.

"Stop." Kurtus said weakly, his voice cracking. "I want to do this. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain."

"Nothing to lose? What about _your life? _What about the trust and love of your friends?"

"No one likes me, so just leave me be. This is my choice to die."

Mercada wouldn't let him. She grabbed his arms and bound the wounds with cloths. She pressed down, hoping that with her limited medical expertise she would save him.

Kurtus was screaming out to get Mercada off her. Mercada calmed him down, putting her arms on his shoulders.

"I know you don't want to die. You don't deserve to die. I like you, Blainus likes you, and hell, even Puckus likes you. He was the one that got you this breakfast. They would all miss you. So come on. Life is worth living. Death is not the way out. Eat something and you'll feel better."

Kurtus wiped his eyes, shakily picking up some bread from the tray, which was now on the ground, the wine mostly spilled.

"Good. Take all the time you need."

Kurtus dipped the bread in the cup and took the tiniest bite. He started gagging and coughing, the taste of food after days of punitive starvation strange in his mouth.

Mercada watched him, unable to stop tears falling. _He was going to kill himself. _She couldn't believe that Kurtus would do something like that. He was stronger than that. But something had driven him to suicide, and Mercada didn't know what it was.

"Kurtus, if you feel comfortable, could you tell me why you decided to... kill yourself?"

He nearly choked on his bread. He managed to say one word before a flood of tears burst from his eyes: "Varro,"

Mercada nodded. It all made sense. They were in love, and after he died, Kurtus wanted to...

"I'm finished." Kurtus pushed the tray towards Mercada.

"That's good. Do you want me to stay in here with you?"

Kurtus' head dropped.

"I could go talk to someone. I think it's better if you missed training today, alright?" Mercada stood up and left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Kurtus made for the knife again automatically. He stopped when he got it to his wrist. He couldn't do it anymore. Mercada would be devastated. He _was _loved. If he died now, people _would _care.

Kurtus put the knife down. He retreated back to his bed, staring at the weapon that could have killed him. He rushed for it, grabbed it and threw it at the door. It wedged deep into the wood, signalling the end of his depressive struggles. He was going to try to live. For Mercada, for Puckus, for everyone.


End file.
